


Cowboy Jones: Rocketship Salsa

by AdamantEve



Series: Cowboy Jones [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Space, Bounty Hunter Jughead Jones, Bounty Hunters, CampBughead, F/M, Inspired by Firefly, Mechanic Betty Cooper, Science Fiction, Space Cowboys - Freeform, inspired by cowboy bebop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: To get away from her overbearing mother, Betty jumped at the chance to work as a mechanic for the Whyte Wyrm. The ship’s captain, FP Jones flies across the galaxy hunting bounties for a living with his son and daughter and their lives are as exciting as they are mundane. Betty’s ready to adventure with this ragtag family of space cowboys, and when she isn’t working--daydreaming about the handsome Cowboy, Jughead Jones.





	1. The Mechanic

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Riverdale, Cowboy Bebop, and Firefly, for the amazing prompt series, CampBughead - Day Twenty : Science Fiction.

Betty tapped her spoon on the edge of the bowl and it made flat, metallic clinks.  The bowl was huge, intended for mixing large portions of food, like Garden-tossed Salad or a macaroni dish that served three, but all of the smaller bowls were still in the sink, unwashed from the previous night’s homemade macaroni and cheese.  It had been Jughead’s turn to wash the dishes and it wasn’t a surprise he had shirked it. He shirked as much housework as he could, but Betty refused to clean up after him. She may have feelings for the 3rd Quandrant’s most effective cowboy, but she wasn’t going to let him push her around. 

At the bottom of the bowl was a pile of cereal and some chunks of a banana.  The banana was still okay, but in about a day or two it would be overripe. 

_ Combined with the stale bread we could actually make decent pudding. _

She shook her head after the thought. She was getting tired of being the only one in this goddamn spaceship who cared to think about recipes for leftovers. Before she came around, the Joneses tended to let their leftovers rot in the fridge.

_ I swear, they’d all expire if I weren’t around. _

It was a little past eight and she expected that the other occupants of the Whyte Wyrm would be waking up soon. FP was usually up around the same time she was, but he must’ve been exhausted from that last bounty they had to catch. 

They had been successful, thank goodness. They needed the funds, as evidenced by the low food supply, but Jughead had said payment wasn’t due to arrive for another two days. Alliance money came slower when it needed to be transferred from the 1st to 3rd quadrants of space. 

This, quite understandably, put Jughead in a foul mood. He was swearing all the way back from the planet Ursula K in his speedcraft, which he dubbed Hitchcock. His profanity had clogged Betty’s radio frequency for minutes on end. 

She normally didn’t mind when he cursed up a storm, but this time, she tuned him out, his swearing was so bad.  

He was also, still asleep, though he did tend to wake up last among everyone else on the ship.

JB’s sleep schedule didn’t count as a schedule.  Her hours were as erratic and random as she was; she slept when she wanted, wherever she wanted, whether it was on the couch, on the stairs or on the kitchen table. 

Betty moved the cereal and banana around.  They were fresh out of milk, but there had been some chocolate syrup in one of the cupboards.  

Desperate for some semblance of breakfast, she had poured some of the syrup on top of her mixture. Everything was good with chocolate. 

Her mother, Alice Cooper, would be furious if she knew her daughter was having chocolate first thing in the morning. Then again, her mother wasn’t here. She was at least two wormholes away, which was how Betty preferred it. She wouldn’t have had taken FP’s job posting for a space mechanic if she didn’t. 

The chocolate was predictably delicious and probably unhealthy, but she figured she needed the fat anyway. Her shorts were loosening and she thought perhaps her boobs were shrinking.

The thing about living in the Whyte Wyrm and depending on bounty rewards for their prosperity was that food was either in abundance or went starvation levels low. Feast or famine.  It was therefore smart to load up on calories when there was  _ something,  _ anything in the pantry. 

To the side of the bowl was her coffee and she took a sip of it. 

She breathed in its fresh aroma and sighed happily.  Decrepit as their lives could get on the ship, they at least believed in good coffee.  FP always insisted on buying the best brand. Betty had no complaints, even when it was  _ her _ turn to buy the groceries. 

Betty felt the caffeine invade her system, and it was good. 

She began to munch on her makeshift breakfast as little by little, she felt less aggravated by their lack of food supply.

There was a sound behind her, and judging by the light but slow stride, it was Jughead.  Betty didn’t even bother to look. Newly out of bed, Jughead was even less sociable than usual. 

In the morning, Jughead was what her mother would classify a disgrace to the public.  His ink-black, scraggy locks tended to look a bit bent out of shape and the scowl on his face was enough to deter everyone who saw him from making smart-ass comments about it.  

He shambled out of his bunk in wrinkled combat pants and his white, wife-beater shirts, sometimes torn, sometimes yellowing from overuse. Sometimes he didn’t wear a shirt at all, which often caused Betty to wonder if he wore  _ anything  _ under those pants of his. 

Not that she was complaining. Jughead Jones wasn’t a tank, by any means. His limbs were long and his body was lean, but those lines of muscles were certainly there. Like his body was pulled tight, and she liked it. She liked it a lot. 

He took one look at her and she met his gaze with an arch of her eyebrow. She was ready for him, but he hadn’t even had his coffee yet. 

Jughead made no comment, heading straight for the coffee machine.  He poured himself a mug and he padded to the stool beside her, hunched over his cup.  She paid him no attention as she munched on her breakfast and drank her own coffee.

After a while, probably after the caffeine kicked in, he was awake enough to speak.  “What’s that?” He was looking into her huge bowl. 

“Cereal, banana, and chocolate syrup.”

“Where’s the milk?”

“We ran out.”

He was silent, probably cursing the emptiness of their refrigerator, and again the delayed reward, in his mind.  There was a spoon on the table; neither of them knowing from whence it came, but Jughead didn’t seem to care. He took it, polished both sides of it with the edge of his shirt and began to point it towards Betty’s breakfast. 

She scowled.  “Really, Jug? There are still a couple of bananas in the fridge. Go make your--”

Ignoring her, Jughead tugged at her bowl and began to eat.  She rolled her eyes and scratched at her scalp irritably. 

“This is good,” he said through a mouth full of cereal and banana. 

Sighing, Betty’s only response was to eat before he finished all of it. 

Halfway through the meal, she caught him staring at her cleavage. She pretended not to notice, but she might have adjusted her shoulder slightly to give him a better view. She noticed that Jughead liked this particular shirt on her. She was yet to call him out on it. 

He tore his eyes away from them seconds later, his face noticeably red. 

She didn’t have that many clothes to wear. When she accepted FP’s job offer, she had rushed home, taken what she could into her small suitcase, and hurried out before her mother could stop her.  She left a video message for her mother to find and by the time Alice Cooper found it, she was halfway across the galaxy in the Wyrm. 

As a result, Betty’s clothing choices were limited.  She could shop for new things, of course, but she preferred to save as much as she could instead of blowing it off on shopping.  All she needed to do her job was a shirt and overalls. When she wasn’t working, she wore shirts and shorts. She had one sundress for special occasions.  _ That  _ hadn’t been busted out yet. There weren’t many social events to go to in their line of work. Bounty hunting wasn’t a very socially inclined industry. 

Still, it didn’t mean she didn’t care what Jughead thought of her. If she ever bothered to wear clean clothes, nicely fitted shirts, and painted toenails, it was because she wanted Jughead to notice, and while he did seem to notice sometimes, he never said anything, which kind of drove her crazy. 

And annoyed her. Constantly. Especially now, when he was eating her breakfast.  

It was time to call him out. If only for her own sanity. 

“Were you just looking at my boobs?”

He choked on the dry cereal, causing his face to redden even more. “Jesus, Betty.”

“Well, were you?” she cried. 

He looked like he was struggling. He probably was. With the cereal. With his words. “You know, you wear a shirt like that--”

“This old thing?”

He dealt her a look that was less than amused. “Shoot me, alright. I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, and they were--you were in my line of sight. It’s just--I’m just too tired to look away, okay?”

She wondered about Jughead sometimes. She’d never once seen him come home with a girl (or guy) or left with his whereabouts unknown. He always got back to the Wyrm alone and only left for assignments, or quick errands. 

For a good looking, healthy twenty-something, who didn’t appear to be awkward with those who were overtly attracted to him (she’d seen him grin cockily at a few admirers, men and women of varying species, even) he sure didn’t seem to have much of a sex life. 

Not that she was doing any better.   _ She  _ hadn’t gotten laid for far too long. 

Jellybean swooped into the kitchen, her laptop open in her hands. She was typing something on it, her fingers flying.  “Morning, grouch!” she said to her brother without looking at him. 

He grunted, but he turned away from Betty, probably relieved that a distraction bailed him out of his very awkward situation.

Hotdog, the Joneses’ sheep dog, followed her in, yipping excitedly, after which he began to lick Betty’s perfectly manicured toes.

“Ugh!  Hotdog!   _ Gross!” _

Jughead laughed upon seeing the disgusted look on her face. 

“Aw, he just likes you, that’s all,” Jellybean said, not looking up from her laptop.  

Betty liked Jellybean. She was a sweetheart, but she often had her head in the clouds. She never had any in-depth conversations with Betty, only fleeting, distracted ones. So she figured Jellybean wouldn’t care if she skipped making nice for stopping Hotdog from slobbering her foot.  She tried desperately to shake Hotdog off her. 

Hotdog simply refused to leave Betty alone, so she lifted her foot, growling menacingly in the hopes of scaring Hotdog off, but she miscalculated her balance and she promptly began to topple back on her seat.  She screeched.

Jughead lunged, and was brutally punished for his good deeds with Betty’s foot as it swung up and hit him square on the chin.

“Dammit, Betty!”

Betty figured it was going to be a pretty bad fall and she braced herself for impact, so she was relieved when her head remained suspended above the floor, her butt still wedged on the stool.  She craned her neck and found that Jughead had grabbed her ankle as he glared at her. 

“We don’t exactly have proper health insurance, you know,” he muttered.  He reached over with his other hand, grabbing her by her upper arm. He yanked her up to sit her up, and she told herself she only imagined the extra rub her arm felt as he disengaged his hand.

“That damn foot’s like a sledgehammer,” he muttered.

Ruffled, but otherwise unharmed, Betty tried to regain as much of her dignity as she could.  “Sorry, the dog--”

“Bad Hotdog!”

The dog whimpered.

Betty was surprised he yelled at the dog. Jughead tended to snort off any inconvenience Hotdog had visited upon her, like when the dog chewed on her slippers, or when he peed on the side of her speedcraft. Maybe she was finally being let in? 

And while she was trying to understand the moods of Jughead Jones, she realized that he saved her a bad knock to the head.  “Th-Thanks.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow.  “For yelling at the dog?”

“For catching me.”

“Yeah, well…” He began eating the rest of her cereal. She let him. 

Jellybean started singing a pop song.  A grin spread on her face as she looked at the bottle of chocolate syrup.  There was a cartoon cow on it. “You know what planet outside of earth has cows?”

Betty sighed.  She still couldn’t believe she understood that as Jellybean-speak for “I have something.”

“No JB,” she replied. “What planet outside of earth has cows?” Not that she was expecting a straight answer…. 

Jellybean’s fingers wiggled and danced over the keyboard.

Betty exchanged raised eyebrows with Jughead before they turned to watch Jellybean with growing interest.  Several faces came up on screen, set side by side on a grid; men and women with bounties written below them. 

“Pick a face, Betty!”

Sometimes, Betty just found it easier to do what she was told. She pointed to the face of a man. Handsome and rugged, his bounty was the biggest on the page. “Jason Blossom.”

Jellybean nodded.”Good choice! I knew you’d pick him for his dashing good looks and inspired bounty. Blew up a stadium, this one. Accidentally, I’ve found. But he inadvertently killed the Prime Minister’s daughter so...”

Jughead snorted. “Dead man walking. Did you find him, JB?”

She nodded, thrilled by her own success. “He’s raising cows in Oberlin Major. For beef. He’s a space rancher.” She typed a few more things on her laptop before she pressed the final button with a flourish and turned it around so that both Betty and Jughead were looking at the screen.

It showed a crowded space port on one half of the screen, like a video feed. On the other half was Jason Blossom’s face with pin-pricks of pixels dancing over it. 

“Face recognition software?” Betty asked. 

Jellybean wiggled her fingers maniacally. “My special program. Better than any of the ones in the market.”

“Better, how?” Jughead asked. 

“It crawls data by geo-location.”

Betty and Jughead exchanged looks. That was most certainly illegal, but then again, Jellybean’s primary function was to get them through the inconveniences of galactic red tape. 

The frequency of the pixels followed the movements of the video, until finally, the pixel flashed on and off, corresponding to a face in the crowd that seemed to match the flashing pixels on Jason’s face. 

Betty leaned over to look more closely at the feed. “Is that--Is that him in a wig?”

“That’s a girl,” said Jughead.

“How do you know it’s not him dressed as a girl?”

Jellybean started to giggle madly as she pulled up the information about Jason. “Jason Blossom of Thornhill Mansion has a  _ twin,  _ Cheryl!”

The young hacker pulled up another video of Cheryl in the terminal, stepping into a passenger ship. Jellybean paused the video and zoomed in on the digital sign perched on the ship’s dock. The sign said, “Oberlin Major, Boarding.”

Betty’s eyes widened and she pointed to the picture. “You figured out Jason Blossom was in Oberlin through that? She could’ve been going there for something else entirely.”

Jellybean began to wiggle her arms.  “My ways are mysterious and brilliant.”

“That’s for sure,” said Jughead from the corner of his mouth.  

Jellybean pressed some commands on her laptop then peered at her monitor.  “A movie is filming at his ranch. That’s how I found him. And cows. Cows outside of Earth are delightful curiosities.”

Betty chuckled. This girl was crazy and powerfully interesting. She wished Jellybean would let her in more.

Jellybean cracked her fingers. “On the set of the unreleased film  _ Rocketship Salsa,  _ someone took a picture and posted it on Instantgram.” She turned her monitor around again, showing them a photo of a fan with one of the actors of the movie. In the background, there was a blurry outline of a cow and a redhead. Jellybean zoomed into the picture, cleared up the pixelation, and clicked “Match” on her facial recognition interface. The software blinked excitedly. Jason’s face matched with the figure in the picture. 

Betty was, once again, thoroughly impressed.

Jughead made a sound and nodded.  “The real crime here is that a film  _ named  _ Rocketship Salsa is being made because the studios think it will sell.”

Betty shot him a look, but she did follow it up with an amused grin. “So are you and FP going for it?”

“Hells, yes. It might even pay us sooner than that goddamn bounty yesterday.” He ruffled his hands through his hair and Betty longed to touch those silky strands. 

_ Do I even have enough batteries left in my vibrator, I wonder?  _

Betty sighed. She needed an occupation.  “Can I come with? This ship is running perfectly and I’m really, really… ”  _ horny.  _ “... bored.”

He seemed to be thinking about it. It wasn’t as if she’d never done a run with them before. She was handy enough with a firearm to help where she was needed, but it was never a given. She always had to ask, and while FP tended to just say, “Sure thing!”, Jughead always seemed to be resistant to the idea.  

She exaggerated batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips. “Please?” She might have angled a bit for some cleavage, too. She wasn’t above that right now. If he jumped her, she wasn’t going to complain. 

He rolled his eyes. “Christ, fine. But do as I say. If something happens to you, this hunk of junk will give out at some point and then we’ll  _ really  _ miss you.”

The only reason what he said didn’t hurt was because he was half-grinning as he said it. 

Betty clapped her hands. “Wonderful! JB, send me all that info, won’t you?”

“Okie, dokie.”

“Hey, does dad know about all this, JB?” Jughead asked, pressing the buttons on his wrist tagger. A screen projected above it and he moved some data around--probably the information Jellybean sent him.  

Jellybean shook her head.  “Dad was up early and left early.”

Betty was surprised about that. She made a grunting sound.

“One has to wonder,” muttered Jughead, probably meaning he didn’t really care.

“Dad took the Chopper and I didn’t ask, but I could track him.”

“Don’t bother,” said Betty and Jughead in unison. One thing Betty learned about living in the Whyte Wyrm was that FP always came back and it was always better  _ not  _ to know what FP was up to in his free time.  It was either too embarrassing or too illegal. Either way, both her and Jughead didn’t want to know. 

They looked at one another for about two seconds before they realized that both of them would be needing the shower.  Betty had a one-second head start being nearer to the door as she shot down the hallway. Jughead was close at her heels.

As the bathroom door came into view, she grinned triumphantly to herself.  But in the next second, she felt strong arms grabbing her from behind and shifting her around.  Mid-shift, she planted her feet against the wall and kicked, slamming Jughead against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway.

Jughead’s grip didn’t loosen in the least, but her leg muscles were strong enough to make him immobile, pressed between her and the wall. 

Jughead cursed his predicament profusely. 

Betty was too annoyed to gloat.  “Dammit, Jughead! You can’t cheat me out of first-shower rights!”

Jughead grunted against the pressure.  “Since when did either of us make first-shower rights easy?”

She exerted more pressure and he growled. 

“Stop that!  Are you hoping to suffocate me?”

Betty growled in frustration.   “This was funny the first 3 times but it’s getting old, Jones!”

In spite of himself, he laughed. “Speak for yourself!”

“Look, Jughead.  Just let me bathe first and I promise you, I won’t use up all the hot wate—“

“Like hell!”

“Even if I do, at least I don’t leave the floor and towels sopping wet; and I don’t make mush out of the soap, either!”

“Betty,  _ get offa me!” _

“I’m using that bathroom first, dammit!”

_ “Okay!  I’ll let you!  _ Just get the fuck off!”

“Promise!”

“Okay, already!”

“Say it, fucker!”

_ “I promise!  _ God- _ dammit, Betty!” _

She slackened her legs and he let her go. 

Barely keeping her balance, she turned and arched an threatening eyebrow. If he tried anything...  

He put his hands up and grinned, then his eyes flickered down to her her collar. 

_ Once again  _ checking her out. 

_ You know, that shower’s big enough to fit two people smashed together.  _

She wanted to say it, but lost her nerve. When he didn’t do anything, she took a deep breath and headed for the shower.  

8888888888888888

By the time Betty was done getting dressed for the day, Jughead was already lounging on the couch, letting his hair dry.  Jellybean sat on the table, humming a made-up tune as she tapped away on her computer, and Hotdog was Hotdog, watching her warily in case she had an urge to kick him out of the way. 

Jughead gave her one look and arched an eyebrow.  “You look… different.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently.  Of course she looked different; she had finally put on her sundress.  It was an airy green spaghetti strap with small flowers dotting it. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect for a romp out in the arid climate of Oberlin Major. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” she said, slinging her strappy gold sandals over her shoulder.

Jughead watched her leave for their docking port. 

She climbed into the Vixen, her personal speedcraft, and dumped her shoes into the cockpit.  She liked driving barefoot. 

“Hey, Betts.”

Mildly surprised, she looked up from her craft, watching Jughead approach from the doors.  “Yes?”

“Where are you going?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“Reconnaissance. You and FP may not be big on homework and preparation, but I am. I like to scope out the site. Plus, there will be actors there. I’m  _ a little  _ curious.”

“So you’re going by yourself?”

She frowned. “What? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He tilted his gaze. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just… do you want some company?”

Betty thought this an interesting development. She let her eyes scan his figure, up and down. Not that he was an embarrassment to be around with. She found him incredibly handsome and distracting, but she wondered if this was just him getting cabin fever or this was him finally noticing her. 

She was well-aware she could just come out and make the first move. There was nothing wrong with that, per se, but she was, first and foremost, polite. She had been invited to this ship and she didn’t want to be the one to initiate a disruption in the dynamics. Getting down with the captain’s son was sure to change things. Even if she wanted it to happen, she wanted that initiative to come from Jughead. 

His house, his move.

“I don’t mind company,” she said with a casual tilt of her shoulder. “Just don’t get in my way.”

He chuckled and climbed into his own ship.  “You’re the boss. _ ” _

She scoffed, flipping her controls open. “Right. As if.”

“What?”

“Why are you really tagging along? Like, are you bored? Do you not want me to get a head start? Are you afraid I’d screw up?”

“Cooper, what did I even do to deserve that last bit?” He smirked, powering his own spacecraft. 

“N-Nothing! I’m just curious. You’ve always let me go off on my own…”

“Yeah, when you want to window shop at the flea markets. But this is work. You don’t ever go out on the field without a partner. Dad and I go out together all the time. It’s for safety, Betts.”

_ Oh.  _

She pulled the strap on her seat and secured herself. “Fine.”

“Great. What’s the script?”

“Script?”

“Well, if we’re going to scope out the place, we can’t look suspicious. What’s our script? Our roles? Vacationing couple? Brother and sister? Pimp and whore?”

She shot him a glare. “Maybe vacationing couple.”

He laughed softly under his breath. “Vacationing couple, it is. Let’s go, sweetheart. We don’t want to be late to cast meetups.”

_ Sweetheart.  _

This was either the best idea or the worst idea.

888888888888888

Jughead looked at Betty through the Hitchcock’s windshield.  She still refused to look back and he laughed to himself. 

He was never going to understand Betty’s moods.  One minute she was sweet and nurturing and the next minute she was on his case, irritable and snarky. 

Not that understanding her was really all that important.  In spite of Betty’s mommy issues (the girl seemed to have a fear that her mother would catch up on her), he liked her enough that he didn’t complain about having her on the ship.

They needed a mechanic, for one. And she seemed nice enough, unfailingly polite at first, but thankfully less guarded the longer she had been around them. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Personality himself, so he liked how she seemed to have eased in instead of coming like a hurricane. 

Her personality did bring a change of pace to the ship, however, which he thought surprisingly welcome. She tended to clean, which was a bonus of sorts--the Joneses were a little more lax on that regard. But mostly he liked the quiet way she asked after all of them, how she tried to make clever contraptions and fix broken things. He liked that she read. Constantly. He liked watching her write in her journals and then put it away when she caught him looking. 

He liked her skimpy outfits. 

He liked those a lot.  

He liked that she worked on the engine with those overalls that she only really used as pants. She liked that smudge of grease on her chin and the ginormous wrench she lugged around when she was in the engine rooms. He liked watching her work on his spacecraft when it needed an oil change, because he could happily stare at her legs when she was too busy to notice. 

She  _ did  _ get cranky. She was human and they were in a cramped spaceship, where they had to turn sideways when they met in its passageways and doors, where the path to the shower rooms were the perfect set-up for intensely flirtatious racing and close contact. 

Even her anger was entertaining.  Until he met Betty, he never knew fighting and calling each other names could be so amusing.  Never mind that he sometimes got a little carried away and ended up irritating himself.

Maybe she wondered occasionally why she never had to deal with awkward encounters in the small hallways when it was FP or Jellybean. Maybe she didn’t wonder. Maybe she knew.

She was driving him crazy. 

He would swear she deliberately flashed him her cleavage on a daily basis. 

But did he really want to risk screwing their ship’s dynamic up? If he gave into his impulses and fucked Betty on the engine room floor, which he had fantasized about countless times, his father might very well eject him into space.  

For one, space mechanics as good as she was who were willing to get paid a pittance with shitty benefits was rare. And second, FP seemed to have made an agreement with Betty’s mother that FP was to watch out for her  _ like a daughter.  _

The only person, it seemed, who was more afraid of Alice than Betty was FP.

Ah, well. Jughead was just going to have to jack off in the shower. Again.

He flipped on the radio, grinning as he channeled in on Betty’s frequency.  “So vacationing couple, right?”

“Right.”

“Honeymoon or just a quick getaway?”

She flew her ship close to his so that they could be looking at one another through the clear glass of their cockpits.  “What difference does it make?”

He slanted a grin.  “Huge difference. Honeymooners are more lovey dovey. Quick getaways are more about touring and sightseeing.”

She shot him a scowl before veering her ship away from him.

He laughed, following her.  “I’m serious!”

“Nobody’s going to care!”

“We’re professionals. We have to do everything right. Hey, you’re the one who said you want to do your homework and shit.”

“Fine. Quick getaway. We’re there to observe. So… you know, look at things. We can hold hands, maybe.”

He chuckled. Hold hands, indeed. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

“Okay, then. Anything else you want to talk about before we do this?”

“I really think we should go grocery shopping before we head back to the ship.”

She gave an irritated sigh, but she didn’t disagree. “Tell me that you brought money and don’t expect me to pony up for that.” 

Jughead grinned. Maybe he liked to tease her occasionally, too. “Oh, right. Money! Yeah, about that…”

There was an audible crackle in his receiver. A sure sign that she had cut the transmission off.  He laughed. 

He was going to enjoy this impromptu mission. 


	2. The Cowboy

It was hot.

The planet.

And Jughead was scorching.

There was sweat, naturally, and the glisten of it on the back of Jughead’s neck made Betty want to follow the rivulets with her fingers.

He was a little overdressed for the planet’s desert-like temperatures. Instead of shorts, he had on a pair of lighter colored utility pants, and instead of just his white tank, he had on a short-sleeved blouse over it, but Jughead only ever shed his layers for sleep, and if it weren’t for the pounding heat of the two suns, he would probably have his beanie on his head.

Betty was mightily tempted to tell him to take off his blouse. The thought that she would see those arms of his, a shiny film of sweat over his skin, paired with his Earth-Space Defense Corps dog tags, was giving her embarrassing thrills.

She allowed herself the indulgence of touching those dog tags. The contact, however indirect, surprised him.  She’d always been curious about the stories behind them, but she never had the nerve to go there until now.

“Why’d you quit the force?” she asked, pretending that she wasn’t crossing a boundary, however mild it was. “I heard they pay well and have great benefits. And your dad said you were good at your job--one of the elite.”

Jughead scoffed quietly. “Elite? Is that what he said? I was a pilot, if that’s what dad meant. Not one of the ground troops. Obviously there were less of us, but hardly elite.”

Betty shrugged. FP was known to exaggerate sometimes, but his exaggerations were directly proportionate to how proud he was of his children. “Everyone knows only the smartest in the academy get to be pilot, so he wasn’t that far off. So why did you? Quit it?”

He made a noncommittal sound.

She wasn’t going to let him deter her until he told her to shut up. “Was it because of a girl?”

This time, his scoff was louder. “Please. Furthest thing from my reasons. The ESDC was everything and more that everyone says it is, and occasionally, we were actually sent out help people—rescue missions and all that, but…”

“But what?”

He sighed. “I couldn’t stand the politics, mostly. And I couldn’t spend another day waiting for the red tape to fall away just so we can actually _do_ something. Waiting around and doing jack shit while the senators at the Alliance vote and parry made me restless. Without missions to distract me, the boxed in lifestyle and the rules drove me nuts. I wasn’t the only one who left because of it all. Many of us did, and I’m still in touch with many guys in my Flight and some of the ground troops in case we need a team to go on paid missions.”

Her eyebrow arched. “So when you’re not bounty hunting, you’re a mercenary.”

He shrugged. “I gotta eat.”

“I’m not judging. So why not just stick to being a mercenary? I heard _that_ pays three times as much as the ESDC.”

He gave a soft snort. “Only if you’re willing to take _anything._ I have a criteria—no drug cartels, no government spooks, no private armies. Strictly rescue missions. I’ll take intelligence retrieval, too. And, well… those are few and far between. _This_ —bounty hunting, is a job while I wait for those missions _._ Going across the galaxy bagging ne'er do wells and scum—it’ll serve while I wait for the bigger stuff.”

“You can be making a ton of money on government spooks alone.”

He smirked and draped an arm over her shoulder, much to her own surprise. “Money isn’t everything.”

She felt her cheeks heating up past desert temperatures, and whether it was because of the two suns or because she just realized that a man who found money less valuable than making a real difference was turning her on, she didn’t know, but he did notice she was flushed.

“What? Too much? I thought we were playing the vacationing couple.”

He was asking about the arm on her shoulders, which was now the least of her concerns.

She was also well aware that he was offering a distraction from further discussion of his space force past. She wasn’t going to pry any further--save it for later.

Right now, she didn’t mind the feel of his hand going down her arm.

“We are. I guess we’re starting already. That’s fine.”

“Started the moment we got out of our crafts, baby.” To emphasize the point, he squeezed them closer until Betty had no choice but to lean her head against his chest.

“God,” she breathed. “I’m kinda sweaty and--I mean, I don’t want to gross you out--”

“You aren’t grossing me out at all.” He said this as he looked down at her upturned face and she told herself that she needed to get a grip, that she’d seen far more spectacular space clouds than the blue in his eyes, but Jesus Christ…

“Am _I_ grossing you out?” he asked, though he didn’t seem the least bit conscious about his sweat at all.

She shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

His grin looked like he had won an argument.

As they walked across the sandy terrain of the space port and towards the tourist transports labeled _Rocketship Salsa (Studio certified tour)_ , his hand shifted to the small of her back, which was less contact but somehow felt more intimate.

If he was going to go all-out in this role playing, she gave herself permission to loosen up a bit, herself.

At the transport doors, she said, “Two please. Oh, darling, would you like open air seating, or is it too hot for that today?”

“We’re here to sight-see, hon. Open air. I like it hot, anyway.” He winked.

_God help me._

She bought the tickets, and Jughead took her hand to lead her up to the second floor of the transport.  

Thankfully, cold-air fans were blowing from the front seats, which offered some relief from the near-unbearable heat.

“Oh, thank God!” she gasped, tilting her head back to let the cold air fan her throat and neck. She closed her eyes to relish the blast of relief, pulling her hair up so the air could reach the back of her neck.

A few seconds in and she noticed him watching her. Could have been the trick of the light that his eyes looked a little darker.

The transport ship flew them across the desert, pointing out a few tourist attractions along the way. Betty was genuinely interested in the flea market they passed, which the tour guide promised had “Out-of-this-world goods and galactic cuisine, which includes _racht,_ Teleran Grub Sashimi, and the Earth favorite: burgers.”

“I’m curious about just how bad their burgers are,” Jughead muttered.

“Might surprise you. They _do_ have a local cow ranch.”

His side-eye was at least filled with amusement, and his hand caressed the space between her neck and shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re optimistic.”

She pouted, even as she relished his touched. She wasn’t going to ever admit that she was liking this role play.

They stopped in front of an establishment selling cheap souvenirs. At the front of the shop was a huge resin replica of a blowfish.

It made absolutely no sense in the middle of the desert, in front of a gift shop that sold stuff that had nothing to do with the sea.

“What does it mean?” Betty asked.

“I don’t know, but I love it. C’mon, babe. Let’s take a picture.”

Babe.

Interesting.

Maybe it was used in the off-chance that someone would hear them? He was really committing to this. “Are you serious?”

“As a Pythorian Myfoku fever.” He grabbed her by the hand and dragged her off the transport, disembarking with most of the tour.

He maneuvered them to the front of the blowfish and tried to get a selfie with his wrist tag, but he looked disappointed by how little he could get of the gift shop in his shot.

The tour guide, an affable lady who hyped every lame tourist attraction up with practiced enthusiasm, offered to take their picture.

“Could you?” Jughead said in a grateful tone. “I want to get the whole gift shop.  In different angles.”

Betty looked over her shoulder and realized that as stupid as this gift shop was, it also had a medium-sized state-of-the-art satellite dish on its roof. Alliance grade. She wondered if _that_ was what Jughead was interested in.

After Jughead and the tour guide linked their wrist tags, he put his arm over Betty’s shoulders in a pose and pointed at the tour guide. “Look at the camera, babe.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and the tour guide snapped photos.

Betty could hear the images coming into Jughead’s tag with soft dings.

She looked up at his face, putting in her own “effort” to act like the supposed couple they were, and he stared right back at her.

When his beautiful blue eyes broke from her gaze it was to look at her lips and she sucked in a breath of anticipation.

When Jughead pulled her closer, she tiptoed and met his lips with hers. Her surprise at her own brazeness was only momentary.  A heartbeat in and she was liquid in his arms. His lips were soft and he tasted faintly like mint, like the toothpaste everyone shared on the ship.

It was quick, but not as chaste as it should’ve been. Both their lips were slightly parted and the suction when they separated made a soft sound—barely audible to everyone else, perhaps, but she heard it like thunder. It was over before she could think on it any further, but the damage, if any, was done.

She was worse off now than when she first asked to join this mission.

“You’re a lovely couple!” the tour guide cried when she’d taken about half-a-dozen pictures.

Jughead pulled the photos up on his tag and stared at the holographic images. He flipped through them quickly, seemed to think everything was good, and thanked the tour guide profusely.  

This gave Betty a little time to recover. She felt flustered and she had to tell herself that if she was going to get through the day with her faculties intact, she had to keep it together.

_It’s just a pretend kiss._

_Calm down._

She eyed Jughead for any sign that it might have affected him, too.

He looked utterly unbothered, just leading her back to the transport, calmly, a _pretend_ hand on the small of her back. She pursed her lips and turned up the cooling fan as she took her seat.

They were working.

This was work.

It didn’t need to be anything more than that.

 

*********************

 

Betty hadn’t said a thing since their stop at the gift shop and Jughead wondered if she was mad at him for pulling that stunt.

It wasn’t as if he planned it. It was going to be _just_ the cutesy look-into-each-other’s-eyes bit for a crowd that had possibly already noticed them. That was all he planned for, but

_You know. She was there…_

and it seemed like a natural thing that couples did. Kissing her, he figured, wouldn’t be a chore, and it would further this whole Vacationing Couple skit they’ve adopted.

So he pulled her closer and if there was the slightest indication of resistance—stiffening in her shoulders, leaning away, any pressure whatsoever from her hands, he would do the ol’ forehead touching thing. People went wild for that shit, but she tiptoed and _let_ him kiss her.

And that 3-second liplock held incredible promise.

He trained his eyes forward, trying to focus on the reason he needed a picture of the gift shop in the first place.

The satellite sitting on its rooftop was Alliance grade, and this far out in the galaxy, there wasn’t supposed to be an Alliance outpost. Either the Alliance was expanding its reach, which was unlikely because the fourth quadrant was yet to sign its allegiance to the Galactic Treaty of Anahita, or someone was selling Alliance technology to people who shouldn’t have them.

He may have left the Def Cor, but his loyalties to the cause hadn’t left him. He wasn’t about to let the Def Cor be compromised by weapons trafficking. Their enemies weren’t supposed to get their hands on their tech.

He sent an encrypted copy of the photos to the Whyte Wyrm’s storage systems. He didn’t know if the information was dangerous, but if it were, it was best to have a backup file.

Not even a minute later, Jellybean messaged him.

**_I know that planet’s hot but ho boy. Kissing the mechanic? Dad’s gonna be pissed._ **

Jughead fought to keep his facial expression neutral. Those photos were _not_ intended for Jellybean. She shouldn’t have been able to—

_What am I thinking? Of course she hacked it._

He struggled to keep his irritation from bubbling into his expression as he typed a message back to his sister on the holographic keyboard.

**_It’s role playing, JB. Calm down._ **

**_Sure, Jan._ **

Jughead frowned. Who the hell was Jan?

**_I’m on a mission, kid. Leave my files alone and go back to whatever it is you’re doing. There’s nothing to see here._ **

**_Oh, go fuck yourself. You’re not a jedi, Jug. You can’t just wave your goddamn hand and make me go away. Offer me something or I’ll tell dad you’re getting cozy with Betty._ **

Jughead grit his teeth and counted to ten.

This is exactly the kind of thing his mother warned them could happen to Jellybean, flying with them on the Whyte Wyrm. Jellybean would pick up on their habits and become a hustler. Jughead remembered the day Jellybean decided to leave with her brother and father and Gladys had expressed this very concern. Jughead had laughed at his mom and told her, “JB’s a hacker, mom. If there’s anyone to watch out for, it’s _her.”_

Gladys “Jones” Tilly had promised death upon him and her ex-husband if Jellybean came back to her mother a foul-mouthed space pirate, but as fierce as Gladys was, Jellybean was an 18-year-old adult who could legally make her own decisions, so their mother could only watch as Jellybean skipped up the Whyte Wyrm’s ramp to join her brother and father on bounty-hunting missions across the galaxy.

In retrospect, both he and his mother had been right.  

Not that it helped him grow less annoyed by this situation. What could he possibly offer Jellybean that she couldn’t get herself?

**_I’ll take you to the Goblin Market. Nearest one’s in Helskin. We’re bound to get a job around that area and I’ll take you window shopping while we’re there._ **

**_I like it, brother. Deal._ **

**_If dad gets up on my ass about those pictures, the deal’s off. Got it?_ **

**_Got it. Happy role playing!_ **

Jughead grumbled discontentedly about his sister being a total hellion.

“Did you say something?” Betty asked, snapping him out of his irritation.

“No, just--JB being annoying.”

Betty seemed amused, but she didn’t press.  She tended to be like that. She stayed out of the Jones family skirmishes, which Jughead appreciated to a certain extent, but it did make him feel weird, too. She’d been on the ship for a little over three Earth months. How long was she planning on keeping up this detachment?

“We’re about to arrive on set. Are you ready for this?” she asked.

“Are _you?”_

His question appeared to make her cheeks grow pink, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her.  This wasn’t his first rodeo into Vacationing Couples, but this wasn’t by any means, like all the other missions he’d been on.

Other than the missions he’d often had to go with his father on (which was as far removed from Vacationing Couples as the first quadrant was with the fourth), he’d had to partner with a few other bounty hunters of various genders in the past, and he’d done the vacationing couple with a few of them, men and women alike,  on occasion, but he’d never felt this crackling sexual energy with any of them before.

He’d done the pretend hug. He’d kissed some of them for show. But they were just missions. After they bagged the bounty, they split the earnings, and called it a day. The ones he considered his friends, he’d promised catching up with them at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, intergalactic watering hole for bounty hunters (where they left their weapons--and grudges--at the door and slurped milkshakes in companionable harmony). There was no out-of-script flirting. No follow-ups. Just bounty hunters doing their job.  

Playing this script with Betty felt like he was treading into new territory. He was second guessing his every move, and it was harder to pretend all of this was no big deal. So, was he ready? Was she?

“We’re going to do this right, Jones,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders. “Quit treating me with kid gloves. I’m a big girl.”

If she only knew.

 

******************

 

The place was about as close to any New Mexican dude ranch that Betty had ever seen streamed or filmed online or at the movies.  Then again, it was entirely possible that without a movie set, this ranch would look closer to a ranch that was actually on Oberlin Major, where the plant life was more carnivorous, cows were herded by Cverthian bayhounds, and ranch hands were less commonly of the human species.

The only thing actually Earthly about this ranch were the cows, and if Jellybean was right, the owner.

The tour, naturally, was confined to the movie set, which expanded to a large portion of the ranch.

“You’d think,” Betty whispered as she leaned closer to Jughead, “that a fugitive wouldn’t let a movie studio film in his place of business, risking his discovery.”

He shrugged, his warm hand splayed on her back. She could feel the skin of his palm laying flat against her bare skin, and she tried not to let that errant thumb of his, making small circles on the base of her nape, distract her too badly.

“Business could be bad,” he said. “As a Blossom, he’s used to living a certain way. He might risk being photographed for the big bucks of a studio.  Besides, all the way out here in Oberlin Major, it’s not surprising he’d consider the risk minimal.”

She shoved her glasses on and started taking pictures with it by tapping on her tag.  

He watched her for a few seconds with obvious curiosity. “New surveillance tech?”

She didn’t realize that he kept tabs on the things she owned. It gave her both a pleasant and uneasy feeling.  On the one hand, him noticing meant--well, him _noticing,_ on the other hand, it just hammered the fact that in the confined spaces of the Whyte Wyrm, people couldn’t really help but observe things about you and figure them out.

“Yes.”

“Spi Cast?”

It was a brand. An expensive one that produced both commercial and military grade equipment. That he thought her little contraption was close to that caliber was equal parts thrilling and amusing.

“Please. Like I could afford that on what I make. I made this myself. And even if I did have that kind of money, I’m not likely to shell out thousands of units for something like this.”

He smirked, the look in his eyes sticky enough to make her ache for him. “It’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

She was blushing, and she tried to pretend that his good opinion of her was no big deal.

She took more pictures of their surroundings, and as the tour group turned corners, she noticed some of the ranch hands walking by the set.  She wondered, momentarily, if there was a chance the ranch hands would lead them to Jason Blossom.

Grabbing Jughead’s hand, she pulled him along to follow the ranch hands, ducking discretely behind set workers who were moving film equipment around.

“What are we doing?” Jughead asked, though he didn’t resist, at first.

“Following a lead. I’d like to find out more about Jason Blossom’s whereabouts on his ranch.”

She felt him tug her back, and she halted in her step, realizing that he was leading them behind a barn door, which shaded them from the pounding heat of the suns. The smell of hay and farm animal was distinct in the air, but the barn itself looked clean and free of refuse. The cows were out to pasture, it seemed, and what hay was laid out looked like new.  

He led them through the aisle, going past empty stalls, until they reached the other end of the open barn, where the ranch hands emerged between the buildings.  They were speaking an alien language, no doubt, but Betty had her translator on at all times. She was sure Jughead had his on, too. His model was probably better than everyone else’s, having gotten it from his days at the ESDC. There was some tech, it seemed, that he got to keep.

 _“Boss seeing to judge tomorrow,”_ said the translator in its often awkward phrasing. _“All must be perfect.”_

It sounded like the boss, whom she wanted to assume was Jason, was coming by the next day to inspect the ranch.  Depending on where the meeting was supposed to be, it could make their jobs easier, or harder.

If Jason was en route to the ranch from some off-site mansion, they could stop him on the road and coerce him to surrender. That would be ideal. Catching him on his private property presented more challenges. They couldn’t just barge into the premises and serve him his papers. They’d have to try to get the local authorities involved, which would be twice as difficult out here, with so little organized law enforcement.

Her translator spoke gibberish, which she found infuriating. She was sure Jughead got a better translation.

She gripped his sleeve. “What did he say?”

He raised a finger in a mild gesture of quiet. His tongue stuck out of the corner of his lips and she was fascinated by the look of concentration on his face. Nevermind that his fingers were now resting lightly on her shoulder.

She kept quiet, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly, he was hustling her back into the barn in a hurry.

“They’re coming this way!” he hissed, moving her along to head for the other doors.  

Voices filtered in from the other side as well. If they didn’t hide, they were going to get caught.

Betty frantically pulled at a stall and found the gate unlocked. She slipped through, pulling Jughead in with her. A thick layer of hay covered the ground and she was grateful that it looked fresh enough that she wasn’t too worried to sit on it.

They crouched low on the ground, hoping that the ranch staff wouldn’t find them. If they got caught, it could blow their entire operation. Jason could up and run in a matter of hours, leaving everything behind. They’d seen it happen—fugitives leaving wealth and family behind to get away from the authorities. It was still a better prospect than languishing in a galactic prison.

The ranch staff were closing in. They still appeared to be talking to one another, but one or the other was about to walk right past their stall and there was no doubt they’d get caught then.

“Stick to the script, Betts,” Jughead whispered hurriedly.

“What?”

“Stick to the script!”

It took a moment for his words to register, and she had to tell herself that they were a vacationing couple all over again. What would a vacationing couple be doing, separated from their tour group, in a cow stall?

There was only one thing. Obviously.

She took fists full of Jughead’s blouse and pulled him to her for a very _un-_ chaste kiss.

His mouth crashed on hers, and truly, she was so distracted about making this convincing that she had to think about what to do with her hands, and her body, but it seemed that Jughead had a better handle on things, because he draped her arms over his shoulders and proceeded to lay her down with her back on the hay.

His mouth was moving against hers, too, coaxing her lips open, and she found that pretending to kiss Jughead Jones was not the worst thing in the galaxy. Her tongue moved to seek his, ignoring that split-second thought that they _didn’t_ have to be french kissing for real. They could just pretend they were, but when his tongue met hers, she figured making this as believable as possible was probably a good idea.

She sighed, relishing the velvety sweep of his tongue and enjoying the slow massage of his lips.  His hair was soft through her fingers and when her other hand dipped beneath the collar of his tank, she could feel the damp heat of his skin along his spine.

The weight of his body shifted and she could feel him pressing between her legs. His hand, which she hardly noticed was gripping her thigh, tightened reflexively when her hips moved to meet his.

He moaned and the hardness of him between them was startlingly obvious. She hadn’t expected him to react. Between them, he was the seasoned bounty hunter and likely, this wasn't the first time he had to play a role, but she wasn’t complaining. She was thrilled she could make him hard like that.

“I’m sticking to the script,” she whispered, through their torrid kissing.

“You’re doing _great.”_

Someone cleared their throat.

And on cue, Betty scrambled to sit up, gasping and hiding demurely behind Jughead, who was looking exceptionally winded himself. His hair was in complete disarray and one side of his blouse had fallen off his shoulder. His military dog tags were tucked securely into his tank, but given the state of things, the ranch staff may not have noticed either way.

She was blushing. Genuinely, because the ranch hands didn’t look the least bit furious, only amused, and they were looking at Jughead like they were going to high-five him.

It occurred to her that she was mildly humiliated by this disparity. Where were _her_ high-fives? He wasn’t the only one who looked like he was going to get laid.  

“Oh, shit,” Jughead said, frantically trying to right himself and scrambling to his feet. He helped Betty to her feet as well, staying completely in character the whole time. “I--we were--thought it would be a good idea to check out the cows in--er--their natural habitat.”

Betty refrained from mentioning that having cows sectioned off in stalls was as far from their natural habitat as it could get, but instead she bit her lip. They were tourists. The dumber they looked, the more authentic their story would be.

“Your group’s looking for you,” said one of the ranch staff in perfect english. She was a lady, the blue tinge of her skin color pale against the sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls.  “I can lead you back to them, if you like.”

Did they have a choice? Betty thought, wildly. Maybe they could just stick around and--oh, make out the rest of the day. Was that an option?

Or maybe that was just her hormones raging.

“Right, of course,” Jughead said, quickly, before she could think about it more. “Come on, honey. We, um--we’re really sorry. Just, you know, got carried away.”

The ranch hands chuckled.

“You’re not the first. Believe me,” said the lady, opening the stall gate and letting them walk through.

Betty hadn’t said a single thing. She didn’t trust herself to say anything that wouldn’t be considered suspicious.  Jughead handled it expertly and it looked like the staff believed him.

He ushered them out of the barn, his hand on her back. And as the lady ranch hand escorted them through the grounds and through the sets, Jughead asked her if they got a lot of movie sets coming and going through the ranch.

It was small talk, really, and Betty felt less and less self-conscious about the entire thing.

When they reached the tour group, they were greeted with good natured cheers.  

“Found them exploring in the barns,” said the ranch hand, giving them a quick wink.  “Guess they really wanted to see the cows.”

The affable tour guide who took pictures of them at the giftshop was still smiling when she said she was glad that they could rejoin the group, but Betty noticed that her grin was a little tighter, and that her eyes held a hint of steel.

She gave everyone within earshot a quick reminder that if would be best if they stuck to the group, that if anything happened to them, help would be slower to arrive in these parts.  

“This isn’t the first quadrant, folks,” the tour guide said. “We don’t have quick access to the Alliance.  If you stumble into the clutches of space pirates or slave traders, you won’t be seeing help for weeks and I would be _devastated.”_

Betty doubted she would be for the sake of the tourists. She would be devastated for her bottom line, more likely, and Betty couldn’t even be mad about that. They were all just trying to earn a decent living in the far reaches of space.

Betty apologized profusely and she had to nudge Jughead to do the same.

After that slight diversion, the tour resumed, and as they walked, Jughead touched something in her hair. She blinked at his close proximity, which was strange, considering there was absolutely no space between them earlier in the barn.

When he pulled back, she saw that there was a sliver of hay between his fingers.

“Caught in your hair,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Th-thanks.”

They walked, and she felt his hand on her back again.

He was sticking to the script. That was all.

She could do the same.

Gliding her hand against his arm, she twined her fingers through his. He didn’t resist.

They carried on, her taking pictures and him, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand.

 

***************

 

At the end of the studio tour, they alighted the shuttle, which brought them to the local flea market with the supposed burgers.

“Dry,” Betty mumbled through a mouthful, a grimace etched across her face. She was chewing so slowly that she looked like she was waiting for permission to spit it out.

He, who had eaten army rations in the past, figured that if he could eat freeze dried and canned meats, he should be able to consume badly cooked fresh beef, especially if he was expecting it to be terrible, but he supposed there were things that remained sacred. He felt her pain.  

Her slow gulp was followed by a mad grab for the cold soda to wash the taste away.

He chuckled softly, offering her another bite. “Maybe you develop a taste for it.”

“Nope,” she said, pointedly.  “You can finish it.”

There was something inherently hilarious about the whole thing that he couldn’t put his finger on. He was amused, for sure, and he couldn’t get over how cute her distaste for all of it was. After that first bite and the poor quality of the burger in her mouth began to dawn on her, she got that look on her face, like she wanted to spit it out but was too polite to do it, so she carried on and swallowed, like a champ.

He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but his thoughts had been going off in wild tangents since that body-on-body kiss they shared. The reality of it was that kissing Betty Cooper on the hay-strewn floor was just as hot as he thought it would be, and yet he was surprised at how intensely his body had reacted to their brief makeout session.

At a certain level, he started to wonder if this was something they might _both_ want, the only question being--did she know what she was getting into?  

As previously discussed on the ship, they needed to replenish their refrigerator, so on their way back to the Wrym, they stopped by the nearest grocery store. It was there that he watched her frown at the pre-packaged cuts of meat and the piles of potatoes and realized that she was disappointed by the quality of what she had to choose from, but that she threw the meat and potatoes in the basket, anyway.  It was in the way she examined every vegetable and fruit that went into their basket that got him thinking in a certain direction.

Now, he knew she could rough it like the rest of them.  In spite of the limited facilities and resources on the ship, not once has he ever heard her complain.  He appreciated that fact particularly because his father told him that back on Earth, Betty Cooper lived a pretty privileged life, hobnobbing with high society folks with surnames like Andrews, Lodge, and Mantle, so to have her live on the Whyte Wyrm the last three months without putting on any airs, except maybe for her demand for hot water when she showered—which was a terribly reasonable request on any level—convinced him that she could hang.

But he did realize that once she set her expectations, like when she cooked, or when she made her own surveillance equipment, or when she maintained the engine room, or maybe even when she was doing something as simple as grocery shopping and picking their vegetables, she set them high. She set them to _perfect._

So it was while they were flying back to the Whyte Wyrm in their space crafts that he switched his radio on to her frequency and started on this odd tangent.

“You are an incredibly optimistic person, Cooper,” he said without preamble.

His line crackled briefly before her voice finally filtered through it. “What?”

“You were hoping that the burger would be good. I saw it on your face when the tour guide first mentioned it on our way to the movie set. Don’t lie.”

“I wasn’t going to.” She said this like a whine and he chuckled into his headset.

“Somebody’s gotta be, I guess. On the Whyte Wyrm, I mean.”

“Don’t you have a reasonable level of optimism?” she asked. “You have to, or else you’d be going after every bounty thinking that it isn’t going to work out.”

He shrugged to himself. “With that, it isn’t so much optimism as it is confidence. I’ve been doing this for a while now and I know what I can and can’t do.  I go after bounties knowing that it’s only a matter of time before I catch them. It’s just fact, but I know enough, for example, to manage my expectations about other things.”

“Like, what things?”

He braced himself, wondering if he wasn’t better off just saying his real thoughts out loud, as opposed to this roundabout way he was going about things. But he figured she was smart. He didn’t have to go into too much detail. He didn’t need to explain that the Joneses were roughnecks. They didn’t attend champagne parties or have golf club memberships.

Sure, he was educated. The Def Cor had given him that, and Jellybean was a genius who probably would’ve sailed through college at 13, but before his father became good at bounty hunting and got himself a decent ship, FP Jones was a space trainguard, flying with a bunch of near-degenerates, gone six months of every Earth year with his crew, drunk on his ass when he was home, and only got his act together after he spent a year in jail for unknowingly transporting and guarding a supply of illegal substances.

The story was that he won the Whyte Wyrm in a poker game, which Jughead believed was complete hogwash.

Whatever the real story was, it didn’t exactly make for a pedigreed background, and Jughead never thought he’d be in the constellation of someone like Betty Cooper, let alone breathe the same air she was breathing.

Let alone make out with her in a barn where her body did things to his body and she seemed to like it.

Honestly, he was inclined to believe that those clean cut, rich fops she had to deal with before she ran off with the rough and tumble Joneses bored her to tears--he’d seen enough of her fire and grit to know that was probably true.

But then what did that make him? Did that make him a passing fancy? Should he expect her to think of him as more than that? Really, should he even wonder?

“Jones?”

He realized the prolonged silence was him not answering her question. “Like I know that I could’ve been the best pilot in the ESDC and I never would’ve made it past Major.”

It probably wasn’t the answer she was expecting, but she went with it. “What rank were you when you left the force?”

“Captain.”

“Well, how do you know--?”

“I know, Cooper. The ESDC promotes deserving candidates, for sure, but they want their officers to have clean, pristine backgrounds. My father was in jail and my sister’s a hacker. It wasn’t going to happen.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jughead.”

“I’m over it. But the point remains, I tend to manage my expectations. I’d rather err on the side of disappointment.”

“But what does _that_ have to do with me being an optimist?”

“Nothing. Just that you and I look at life differently, that’s all.”

She didn’t reply and he figured the conversation was over.  

He meant that. That they were different. And that’s what he was trying to say, perhaps. There were things that weren’t meant to be more than what they were, he supposed. He was good at being thankful for what he had.  It was just the way of things, particularly in his life.

When they docked at the Whyte Wyrm, he hopped out of his spacecraft and turned to hers so he could unload their groceries, but she was headed in his direction with a furious expression on her face.  

“What did you mean by all that?” she demanded. “What did you mean by you and me looking at life differently? Are you saying we’re _too_ different?”

Her tone was jarring. What shitstorm was this? “Jeez, Cooper. It was just a conversation.”

She shook her head and glared at him. “I want to know what you meant by what you said.  Like, what are you trying to say? That we can get along, live in the same ship, check each other out, but it doesn’t matter because we’re _different?_ Since when did you give a shit about the status quo, Jughead Jones?”

He scowled. “This isn’t about the status quo, Cooper!”

Her face was flaming red. Her eyes were blazing and she looked _pissed._ “If you don’t like me that way, just _say so._ You don’t have to let me down gently with your philosophical discussions about my privilege versus yours. I’m not stupid! I’m a goddamn rocket scientist, for fuck’s sake! I am _smart as fuck!_ You’re not the first guy to look at me and think that I’m some prim and proper rich girl who should be put in a glass box instead of picked up and fucked against the wall! I am _so sick_ of it! Is that what you think of me, Jones? That I’m a Chanel wearing, pearl clutching, ivy league princess?”

God, where did this all go so wrong? “That is _not_ how I think of you at all,” he replied, with emphasis. “And who said anything about not liking you that way? That conversation wasn’t just about you, you know. Some of us just want to make sure you know what you’re getting.”

She seemed dumbfounded. “What? What am I getting?”

He frowned, giving her a look, like _Come on._ “You know what I mean.”

“I want to hear you say it, Jones.”

There was a surprising amount of space between them that he felt an urge to bridge, so he did, closing the gap. It was no longer an alien feeling, this physical proximity. They’d kissed. He’d settled between her legs and had her under him. There was no longer a reason to be shy.

She didn’t move an inch.

“You get _this.”_ He tugged at his thread-bare blouse as he spoke softly, but surely. “A roughneck, Def Cor dropout, who runs around the galaxy in a junk heap catching the scum of the universe, occasionally transporting precious cargo for rich folks. You get a cynical, foul-mouthed asshole who likes reading crime fiction and books about serial killers, who checks you out in your skimpy shorts and tight t-shirts. I am _nothing_ like the other boys you’ve hung out with. I’m a goddamn, gunslinging cowboy.”

She made a sound from the back of her throat. She closed the distance between them even more. She was so close that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “Don’t you think I already know that?”

She bit her lower lip, and his eyes were drawn to the way her teeth pressed lightly into the soft flesh.

He took a deep breath, inhaling that lingering scent of her perfume, mixed with the chemistry of her sweat and shampoo. “Cooper--”

“Jones, for God’s sake,” she breathed. “Take what you want.”

It was impossible to resist. He shoved his fingers through her hair and cupped her head as he clamped his mouth hard over hers and his tongue swept in to taste her. He pressed his other hand against her back, pulling her flush against him.

This wasn’t like the careful kissing they shared in Oberlin Major. This was full of wanton abandon. Desire boiled over from weeks of watching and needing.

He sucked in a breath and she moaned into his mouth. Whatever warnings his father may have thrown his way, or any hesitation he may have had in the past, evaporated in the face of this frenzied clash of their bodies, of this overwhelming need to make her feel exactly what it was like to be ravished by a cowboy.

The way her hands were running up his sides, scrabbling at the skin underneath his tank, silenced any doubts about her willingness to do this.

She was walking back as he pushed forward, wanting the press of her body, hoping to close every space that existed between them.

When he had her shoved up against the wall, her legs were wrapped around his waist and the front of his pants were rubbing against her panties.

He rasped his teeth against the soft skin beneath her ear and moaned. “I need you so bad, Betty.”

She sighed against his throat, her lips sucking his skin and her tongue stimulating the same spot. “Jug, I’ve been touching myself for _weeks_ thinking of you.”

The image of her, fingers rubbing between her legs while calling out his name sent him spiraling with desire.

“Oh, my God.” He tilted her chin up so he could kiss her on the mouth again. The heat spreading through his body was unbearable and he wanted to tear her sundress right off her, but fucking in ship bay was courting disaster.

He tore himself away from her and she mewled in complaint, but he took her by the hand, pulling her along with him through the doors and into cargo bay. He went past all utility areas, past the engine room, and finally past the common areas to the passageways leading to the cabins.

His fingers flew over his keypad, the hiss of his cabin door opening lost in the flurry of getting Betty into his room and into the embrace of his arms. He pushed the “closed” button on his wall, enclosing them in his bunk.

There wasn’t a whole lot of room. Just enough for a comfortable bed, a small closet along one wall, a writing desk on the other, but it was private, and there was enough space to please her, multiple times if he did this just right.

He shrugged off his blouse and tank quickly, kicking off his shoes and socks in record time. She didn’t waste time either, hastily peeling her own clothes off, the spaghetti straps of her dress catching her hair momentarily then coming loose in a golden cascade.  

She was far more gorgeous than he had fantasized, with her gracefully sloping breasts and the curve of her hips making him want to explore every dip and valley of her body.

He cupped her face in his hands, resuming the vigor of their kiss from ship bay.

He could feel her fingers working to undo his pants and he let her. The eagerness of her hands to push off the last of his clothing sent his heart beating wildly and his desire pounding through his body.

When she ran her hand along his dick, it was almost too much for him to bear.

He tore off her bra and lifted her off her feet to toss her onto his bed. She cried out encouragement as he stalked over her body and took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around a stiffening peak.

Gasping his name, she ran her fingers through his hair, sending electricity from his scalp to the rest of his body.

“Take them off,” she demanded in a frantic whisper. “Take off my panties.”

He groaned, slipping his hand beneath the fabric and dipping his fingers into her sex. She was so wet, and the thought that he did this to her was weakening his will to prolong this ritual.

“Juggie, _please_ just—“

He shushed her. “One second. One—“ He reached for his bed stand, pulling on the drawer and haphazardly rifling through the mess inside to grab a condom.

She took it from him, tearing the packet open and guiding his hips so she could reach. When she slid the rubber over his cock, he decided he couldn’t wait much longer.

Grasping the delicate material of her panties, he slid them off her quickly and tossed it aside. He knelt over her on his bed, grabbing her legs and trailing his tongue along her calf.

Canting her hips up with her ankles on his shoulder for leverage, he slid into her. Her tight warmth around him made him moan in pure satisfaction.

“Holy fuck, Betty, you feel so good,” he gasped, thrusting his hips forward and back into an instant rhythm.

“Oh, my God, _yes!”_ She met his thrust with equal vigor.

She was gorgeous, writhing beneath him as he moved inside her. He pressed circles on her clit with his thumb and her moans took on a different pitch.

“I’m coming, Jug!”

He thrust harder and increased the tempo of his thumb. When she came she was screaming, and it was a sound he could listen to forever. He worked her through her orgasm, and when she came down from her high, gasping for breath, he turned her over, tilting her hips so he could enter her from behind.

Her moan of pleasure filled his senses, and as he draped himself over her back, he clamped his hands over her wrists, pressing them to the mattress.

He sucked on the skin of her shoulder, trailing his lips to the back of her neck, then tugging the lobe of her ear with his lips.

He thrust into her more slowly, as he whispered, “This okay?”

“Don’t stop.” She craned her neck to capture his lips with her own as he moved in and out of her. Her delicious warmth around his length making it harder for him to hold back.

Her knee found purchase and she began to push back, which felt incredible. She pleaded for him to go faster, but he shook his head, thrusting harder instead. He was desperate for control. “Baby, I’m so close.”

He reached around her body, his fingers finding her clit.

She moaned her appreciation as he rocked into her and rubbed that soft bundle of nerves.

It was mind blowingly good, and she wailed for him to keep going. If she went on this way, he was going to come before her, so when she gasped and cried that she was coming, he gave in.

He groaned as he released, hearing her cry out his name just as he came apart with the pounding of their hips.

There was a moment that he knew nothing but the overwhelming wave of his climax, and then he was coming down, feeling the rise and fall of her body against the press of his chest.

She was still moaning, still coming down from the aftershocks, so he held her for several more seconds. When she sighed and settled, he rolled off her, collapsing beside her on the bed. As he stared into her exhausted but sated face, he thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

He kissed her, and he felt her fingers tracing his jaw.

She shifted in bed and he took a moment to clean up before settling then both beneath his coverlet.

He wasn’t sure if she really wanted to stay, but she tucked herself in the crook of his arm and he wasn’t going to complain.

For a few wonderful minutes, they didn’t feel the need to say anything. He just ran his fingers gently through her hair and she sighed contentedly.

He felt her leg drape tentatively over his and just to alleviate any doubts she may have about staying, he ran his hand along her thigh and draped her leg over him more securely.

The small smile that tugged the corners of her lips gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

“Is your dad going to kill you?” she asked.

He paused for a moment before replying. “Yes.”

She sighed, her fingers making idle circles on his chest. “Then I suppose we’d have to be careful he doesn’t cotton on.”

He tried not to let on that the implication that _this_ would continue made him stupidly giddy. “I suppose so.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows to look at him. “I guess JB couldn’t know, either.”

He smirked, pressing a finger to his lips, then to hers. “It’ll be our secret.”

The smile that lit up her face made his otherwise cold, cynical heart flutter with unlikely optimism.

Maybe this wasn’t going to fizzle as quickly as he assumed it would. Maybe he just needed to enjoy this while it lasted.

If she wanted her wild and untamed cowboy, he could be that for her while she was interested. Because really, there were worse things in this galaxy than having the attentions of a beautiful and talented mechanic, all the way out here, in the fourth quadrant of space.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know:  
> Racht - Klingon delicacy from Star Trek


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